


Busted Lip, Busted Brain

by The_Lowlifes_Back



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Cunnilingus, Doctor/Patient, F/M, First Time, Heavy Petting, Help, In the vault, Kissing his boo-boo's 'n then making the boom boom, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Fallout 3 Main Story, Romance, She's her father's daughter, Smut, Somebody Take my Keyboard Away, XD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 04:47:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26467441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Lowlifes_Back/pseuds/The_Lowlifes_Back
Summary: It was a wild, strange night.Full of fist fighting and beer chugging.He's knocking on her door, blasted out of his mind....Her room’s different than he expected.She's muttering at him.  “Why couldn’t you have just gone to the clinic?”...He figured it was because getting favors out of her was easy.He’s getting lost in the way she’s touching him, his expression softening. “…you don’t ever say no when I need something…”He wanted to take things away from her, even when they were children.Even now.He’d take whatever he could get from her....He wasn’t stupid enough to expect to get what he didn’t deserve.He talks low and quiet, the tone foreign to the both of them. “…still want it?”...He feels her hands trembling, as they move up his sides. Appreciating. Making him shake.Warming his soul, at her approval. "I do."...His words shy and raw. “…I’ve been thinking about you all the time… you drive me crazy…”...Her words little more than a long drawn out sigh. “…I think about you too.”He’s just a man on his knees, wanting to satisfy her.It’s all he’s ever wanted.
Relationships: Butch DeLoria/Female Lone Wanderer, Butch DeLoria/Lone Wanderer
Comments: 6
Kudos: 70





	Busted Lip, Busted Brain

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so after noticing a decided lack of smut in this ship (and after reading so many well written stories WITHOUT it) I'm back and on the rampage with this LOVELY thing. This is what happens when I have a glass of wine and can't help myself. Be prepared. This is legit romance novel levels of cringe, but I THRIVE on this kind of stuff. Hope you all like it! I feel like I've outdone myself lolololol.
> 
> I know "busted" is not grammatically correct in this way (as my English teachers always loved to say), but it sounded like something Butch might use in his vocabulary.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything! I just have fun writing with other people's things. :>

** Busted Lip, Busted Brain **

It was a strange feeling. Kissing anyone with a busted lip, would have been weird enough. It was a wild, strange night of fist fighting and beer chugging, which ended with him knocking on her door, blasted out of his mind. He was both lucky and unlucky, that her daddy wasn’t home. He couldn’t see straight, from either a concussion or the booze and when she opened the door, something about the way she was dressed so comfortably bothered him.

No vault suit, just shorts and a tank top. Revealing in a way he got a little caught on. She pissed him off more than anyone, but lately, things were weird between them. She’s calling him an idiot, seeing the state of his face, and waving him in.

Her apartment was dark and from the doorway, he could make out a pile of paperwork on her coffee table and the blue couch behind it. Her kitchen counter went beyond that and all the lights were off, except for the pilot light over the stove. He could see all this from a glance, when her voice brings him back to reality. “Did you hear me? Get your stupid hide in here! What’s wrong with you?! You’re gonna wake up the whole block!” She’s tugging him in by the arm, weaker and smaller than him. There’s a fuzzy thought at the back of his mind, which hints at it being dangerous to be alone with her.

The Pipsqueak had been getting on his good side lately. Not even by changing her attitude or learning when to back off from a fight. It was just by keeping her mouth shut about this and that for him. Though, his face was a walking billboard of what he’d get up to late at night, and people talked, but she didn’t. He caught her telling Amata to mind her own business about it once.

That endeared her to him, in a way which he didn’t like.

His private business was something, her old man knew very well however. The bruises from both his boys and his work for The Overseer sent him to the clinic weekly. The ones from his mother weren’t anything new. He’d appreciated that she’d kept her mouth shut and had avoided hitting him below the belt whenever they’d argue. He’d been bothering her more too, but somehow, it didn’t carry the same hostility it used to.

To be frank, he can’t remember the last time they’d had a real fight.

She didn’t seem to mind it all that much- him sticking to her during his break or after she got off work. In fact, she’d look for him in the halls sometimes, after curfew or during her afternoon shift. She kept asking him about when he’d started to grow up and he kept laughing about it. Why the hell did he have to grow up? He’d usually shove her away gently and leave her there, still holding onto his youth for as long as he could.

They’d stopped getting into physical fights, the day he’d gotten taller than her. It was some kind of unspoken agreement, but when she… when it started to become clear that she was a “girl” it didn’t feel right. He’d still threaten her after that, but it was getting pretty obvious, that he wasn’t going to really do anything. Not if they were alone anyway. Most of the threats now-a-days were for Wally’s benefit, because if he didn’t act like an asshole, Mack would call him soft.

He had to keep him on a short leash, because he was starting to get that same cold look that Stevie had in his eyes. The bloodlust was becoming more than just doing their job to the red head. Butch never liked breaking fingers or legs or really bones in general. It was never pretty and he could still hear the snapping whenever he’d get back home. He could even hear it in his sleep now and drinking had become his favorite distraction.

The only one out of his close friends, who might have cared enough to tell him to stop, was Paul. Paul hadn’t brought it up yet and Butch didn’t feel like talking about it. What they did? Being the Overseer’s attack dogs? That was something that stayed in the moment and that they’d drink about, without ever talking about it like a bunch of hens.

Then they went home, licked their wounds, and waited for the next job. Sometimes, emotions ran high. They took it out on each other. Tonight was a textbook case of that. It wasn’t serious though.

It was only serious if the knives came out and they’d all agreed to never turn their fangs on each other. She was usually the one patching him up now. James was busier than usual, but he didn’t complain about it too much. James tended to look at him with this intense pity, that boiled his blood, but he couldn’t really lash out about it. There was this terrifying air about the Doc that Butch couldn’t explain either, but he knew it wouldn’t help to try to start anything with the guy.

He’d pushed his luck as it was, by bullying the Doctor’s only daughter since they were both 7 years old.

So, it wasn’t that bad, being her pin cushion all the time. He itched to get under her skin. That perfect goody-two-shoes and her pretty skin, needled at him, even without a syringe in her hand. Especially with that soft look in her eyes which was starting to look a lot like her dad’s with every passing day. She was willing to help him, even if he did nothing but push her buttons on purpose.

He figured it was because getting favors out of her was easy. That’s why he’d come to her door, instead of the clinic. It didn’t matter what he did, because she’d always help him no matter what. It was the right thing to do and he liked to use that moral compass of hers like a knife between her ribs. She didn’t judge him like other people.

Everything was spinning and the burn in his gut was welcomed. It was turning his blood to fire and coating his thoughts in a fog of peace. This apartment was bigger than his. He’d figured it would be. Spoiled little brat had it all didn’t she?

She lived a peaceful, un-tortured life. The best job assignment handed to her, the best apartment to grow up in and a father who actually wondered where she was at night. He wanted to take things away from her, even when they were children. He just wanted a taste of what she’d had all her life and it made her draw his attention to her like a bullet.

Even now, he’d take whatever he could get from her.

He was the restless type. Ever since he was born, he liked to raise hell and spit in the face of authority. The rules were bullshit anyway, but nobody had the balls to change them. He’s not even sure why he’s sitting on her bed right now. She could have treated him on the couch, but he didn’t want to give her a reason not to let him into her bedroom.

Her room’s different than he expected. She’s got Vault Tec blue carpet and the walls are covered in comic book posters. Instead of being neat and tidy, there were piles of clothing and different books strewn about oddly. Some were Grognak comics, others were medical texts books, and a few were fiction. It makes him stare at them, trying to read the covers.

The books distract him from the girl’s bed beneath him. Her bedroom door is closed and he’s never been in her apartment before. She’s moving around her bathroom, which is a separate room that her bedroom leads into, because of course she’s got her own bathroom. The longer it takes for her to find whatever she’s digging around for, the harder it becomes to ignore the smell of lemons in the room. Whenever he’s got her up against the wall that’s what her skin smells like.

A dirty thought follows the memory of her against the wall and against him. He closes his eyes, counting to 10, breathing her in and wanting to ignore the physical reaction the scent is evoking. The queen bed dips beside him and forces him to look at her. Her hair is down and all over the place, blonde enough to admire the color, even in the blue tinged lowlight of her bedroom. She looks tired.

He probably woke her up out of a dead sleep.

He’s the one with a black eye and a bloody lip, but she’s the one who’s put herself in a vulnerable spot with him. Her hair’s gotten so long; he wouldn’t have to reach too far to get his hands on it. The second that she’s close enough to touch, he’s grabbing it impulsively. He mumbles out loud, unable to stop himself, from rolling the ends of it between his fingers. “Split ends…” She’s caught off guard by him, her expression perplexed, but she doesn’t stop him.

She’s got a first aid kit on her lap, going doe eyed for a brief moment, but maybe it’s just his imagination. He’s rolling the blonde fabric of her waist length hair between his fingers mindlessly. It pisses him off, an ugly, uncomfortable hunger for her, growling off his tongue. “…you just let any guy in here who asks? Or d’you just not care… what I do to you anymore?” Her voice is full of the bite he knows she’s saved up just for him after a hard day. “Are you asking for another black eye?” It makes him giggle and grin obnoxiously, because she’s not soft spoken when they’re alone like Susie is.

Evangeline’s the same in public, as she is when they’re alone. When Susie was with him, it felt like she was pretending to be something she wasn’t. It was fun at first, sneaking around Wally’s back. Then she started coming by less and less. He wasn’t surprised, when she broke up with him and even less surprised, when she started going steady with the Freak.

It’s gotten to be normal, for him to be this close to the Doc’s Kid. Her hands are on him all the time, fixing whatever he broke. She’s kind. She’s too kind to him. He can’t stop smiling, her lack of hesitation, warming his heart. 

She’s locking eyes with him, her bare knee brushes against his thigh and his chest tightens. He can’t smile anymore. There’s nothing funny about that searching look on her too pretty face. When she turns her back to him towards her nightstand, her hair slips out of his hands. The view of the nape of her neck, along with her mostly bare shoulders, is awakening something in him, which he doesn’t like.

He is assailed with memories of her back against his chest and the soft curve of her ass against the front of his jeans. He’s getting flashes of her back against the wall and her hands pressing on his chest. He likes the way she feels whenever she’s pressed against him. He likes it when she calls him by his first name, all pissed off and breathy. He loves it when she smiles at him.

Every time he’s ever gotten up close and personal with the little Pipsqueak, this switch tries to get flipped on in his brain. Her voice is distant to him, because the thoughts he’s having, are scaring him a little. “…keep your hands to yourself.” The lamp on her nightstand goes on, brightening the room. When she looks back at him, there’s something about his face, which makes her smile at him. Her eyes flicker towards his mouth, like she’s sending him signals, but he can’t be sure if it’s just the liquor telling lies to him.

His voice is husky, watching her, watching him. “…can’t make me if I don’t want to.” Her smile’s melting off and there’s a flash of panic in her eyes, which cuts him painfully, in a way he hadn’t expected. Shrugging his shoulder heavily and shaking his head, he laughs it off, glaring at her messy desk, sitting right in front of him. “-Joking! I’m just joking! Relax…” Her voice betrays unease, but even so, she’s still opening up the first aid kit to help him. “…You’re not funny.” She’s digging through the gauze and Band-Aids and medical clutter, and he’s saying something he probably should shut up about. “What? You afraid of me? That’s all it took, huh?”

Being with her alone was confusing lately.

Her bedroom’s colder than his would have been. Her whole apartment’s pretty cold. Her answer is the same as it always is, as she holds a cotton ball against an open bottle of antiseptic. “I’m not afraid of you… just look at you.” His words are hotter than he’s expecting. “…you can do more than look, can’t you, Bookworm?” She seems caught up in her work, her answer flippant. “-Why don’t you go bang on Susie’s door the next time you’re all beat up?” When her fingers touch his jaw with a thoughtful caress there’s that creeping, hunger rearing its ugly head inside him again. He’s getting lost in the way she’s touching him, his expression softening. “…you don’t ever say no when I need something…”

Her deft hands are dabbing at his bottom lip, making him hiss and jerk back. “ _Ss-ah_! That hurts!” She’s pawing at his chin and forcing him back to her, scolding him. “Hold still you big baby!” Her eyes are blue and bright in the low light, focused on his bloody lip, when he reaches for her hair again. She’s scoffing and rolling her eyes, being a little rougher in her motions. “I’m pretty sure Susie’s never said “no” to anyone. You MUST be drunk.” He’s laughing under his breath, talking without having the common sense not to. “…yeah… shit… Wally’s got a mean right hook…”

She’s moved from his lip to his left eye, muttering at him. “Why couldn’t you have just gone to the clinic?” He can’t help himself. He’s moving his fingers up into her hair, catching her attention, while enthralled by her abnormally docile nature. “...your eyes are prettier than his…” He’s got a handful of her hair, looking at it intently, letting it slide through his fingers. She doesn’t stop him, but he can tell that she’s getting flustered when her voice shakes. “What are you slurring at me? Was that even a sentence, Deloria?”

Is he slurring? Is he making sense? When his eyes catch her breasts under her white tank top, something’s coiling up like a loaded gun inside him. His fingers are combing down her hair and carefully undoing knots. Instead of mentioning his lack of personal boundaries, all she does is stare at his mouth, while trying to clean up a different cut at the corner of it. He was surrounded by the smell of the clinic, lemons, and her, as he had come to know those smells intimately.

His heart is jumping, unable to help it and too whiskey-ed up to care. His voice drags out raw and twisted, stopping her hands. “…you really can’t think of one…good reason… to be afraid of me?” He couldn’t understand her. Hadn’t he been nothing but a bully to her? Didn’t he tear out the pages of the only copy of her favorite book once?

Just because they were getting along now, didn’t change what he’d done.

Her eyes are locked with his on a daily basis, but right now they look like a stranger’s eyes to him. There’s no sound, except for the sound of their collective breathing and the brush of cotton on his skin. The weight of it is crushing him. He’s all alone at 2am, in the little girl’s bedroom, without her daddy to stop him. A shy blush is climbing his neck, ruining his tough guy image.

Her face is twisting into an expression, which he thinks looks really good with her hands on his face. Her voice is breathy, in a way he has never heard before. “You keep bothering me, Butch…” She’s thumbing his bottom lip and his eyes dart between her mouth and her dewy eyed gaze. His other hand is clutching at her blue comforter, his ears burning. Her mouth is moving, but his mind’s falling deeper into a state of inebriation and he can’t bring himself to hear her very well. “…didn’t you notice?”

He missed the rest of what she had said and it’s frustrating. He’s on the edge of her bed, leaning closer to her, clumsy and closer than he meant to get. Her breath catches and he can’t help but ask her to repeat herself. “…What? Notice what?” Her hands haven’t left his face, even though he swears he can taste something minty on her breath now. She tells him something, which makes him nervous and has his chest hurting. “…you act like you can’t help it… it’s like you got nicer for no reason.”

A childishness enters him, which has him arguing with her, feeling hotter inside his jacket. “Nice? Me? Are you stupid?” She’s smiling at him like she’s got a secret and it not only pisses him off, but manages to turn him on. Her lips are teasing him, her voice still curling around his ears like sin. “…If I’m stupid, then you’re brain-dead.” He’s getting himself worked up, insulted and breathing her in. His eyes are stuck on her mouth, his words molten fire. “…you’re asking for it, Smart Mouth.”

She loses that smile as quickly as she got it and manages to suck the rage right out of him. They’re so close to each other, it’s indecent. He’s captured by her and at her mercy. Her words are so deadly sweet, it’s making him want to act on all the sexual things that he’s ever dreamt of doing to her. “You wouldn’t hurt me, Butch…” He has hurt her though. He’d hurt her many times when they were growing up.

Then, she brings something up, which sparks a memory that he’d been trying to suppress. “… Last month…outside of the diner…when **I** touched _you_...you were the one who ran away… scared…” Last month, he had her against the wall and the two of them were actually laughing together. He was picking on her and touching her hair too much, a lot like now. He couldn’t stop himself from getting excited around her lately. She was laughing at him, but it didn’t feel wrong.

If felt good. She had brought her hands up to pinch his dimples and he hadn’t caught on to the affection in it at first. She was just screwing around with him. She’d never touch him, unless it was a matter of him being a patient and she had to. When she’d kept her hands there and didn’t move them, that’s when he’d forgotten to keep smiling.

Without even trying, she’d stolen the laughter right out of his mouth.

It was the first time, that she had willingly touched him. It had shocked him silly. He hadn’t known what to do. So he panicked and tried to get a rise out of her, acting blindly, asking her for her rations, feeling playful. He’d reached into the pockets of her vault suit roughly with his hands.

It wasn’t until she just stood there and let him press her against the wall, that he realized what they were doing. His fingers were brushing her sides and clumsily pawing at her hips. He froze up, clutching at those pliable and giving swells with both of his hands. He could feel her breasts against his chest and his thigh had gotten pressed between both of hers, in the rush to get closer to her. It was raw and fast and electrically charged and she had gasped at the way he squeezed them.

It went straight to his dick. Which was pressed against her thigh and he knew she’d felt it throb. Her eyes had widened and she’d looked down between them, wild. He watched the emotions play out on her face, between shock, curiosity, and intense emotion. Whether she had meant to or not, her thigh rubbed against the outline of him in his jeans after that and his mouth fell open. He’d reacted with a stifled and broken whimper, which had been involuntary and smothered it with a grunt as fast as he could.

His hands were buried in the fabric of her clothing and he couldn’t even breathe.

Three words from her, was all it took, to make him jump out of his skin. “Is…is that-” Before she could finish or he could act on it, he tore his hands out of her pockets. Terrified of what she’d just made him feel. Then he bolted, leaving her there. Brought back to that moment, he’s in disbelief, his voice crackling with a need, which he’s aching to have her fulfill. “… I wasn’t… -Scared of who? Of you? I have you outweighed by… a lot. You can’t tell the difference between **that** and…and…”

The words he was looking for to describe what he had felt, were savagely turned on, but there was a great deal of fear there too.

He’s not sure what this moment even is, but it’s charged and uncomfortable. His lip is stinging from the medicine and her hair is all he can think about. It’s silky and soft in his hands- too pretty between his rough and bruised fingers. She’s lowered her voice and made things more taboo. “…I wouldn’t have stopped you… I wouldn’t have run.” He’s not just imagining it.

She’s staring at him like she wants him to snap.

He’s staring still stuck on her mouth and something cracks. Her hands are gentle on his face, stuck on his jaw, just like that day. The dark room and the taste of her breath, her hair in his fingers and the way she’s locked eyes with him, is the definition of intimate. He wants to ruin that pretty, mean mouth. He wants to grab her and throw her under him and make her beg him for it.

Then it finally becomes too much for him, when she licks her lips and makes him lose his mind. He’s dragging her mouth against his, catching the sound of her muffled shock on his tongue and prepared for the backlash. She would hate him. She’d hate him and reject this, both his mouth and his body. He wanted her to, so he didn’t get to have this.

He wasn’t stupid enough to expect to get what he didn’t deserve.

It was the whiskey whispering in his ear. It was the mistake he wanted to make ever since he was 13 and she’d smiled at somebody else. Ever since that day he craved to steal it from her. If he couldn’t have it for himself, he’d burn it all down, and force her to look at him. He couldn’t stop himself from staring at her, but she’d never look back unless he was making her.

Then she’d begun to work beside her father and he saw her every week. She started checking up on him, asking about his health. Looking at him- she’d started looking at him. Then when she started smiling at him, he’d begun to melt around her, day by day. The secret desire in his young heart had been for her to notice him, without having to force her to. He’d never thought about what to do, if she ever actually did.

When her hands start to drag up into his hair, he knows that he’s opened a box, which he had never dared to even acknowledge. This is nothing like doing missionary with Susie. Even a kiss with this girl, this forbidden heart he’d never tried to hold onto, was too good for him to take. Her fingernails scrape against his scalp and it leaves him shivering, goose bumps forming on the back of his neck. Not only doesn’t she push him away, he feels the tip of her tongue dip between his lips and it knocks a wave of pleasure into him, like she’d just licked the tip of his-

He pulls away, like she bit him and the look on her face, is like a piece of artwork. Her words are burned into his mind, fearless in the face of his raging erection. “I’m a doctor, Deloria…I knew what it was. I know what you were hiding…” She’s licking her lips again, flushed and nervous. He sees her pulse fluttering in her throat, and feels his mind explode over her lack of shame. Anything he might have had to say, is drowned out, by how bluntly she’d called him out.

She’s looking up at him and saying things that are too dirty to be said so softly. “… I heard you when I touched it… it sounded like it must have felt good.” She’s merciless, shooting a filthy question at him, expecting an answer out of him. “Did it feel good?” The emotions stabbing him, are too intense and he’d never expected them to hurt so much. His jeans are too tight and his voice is gravel and desperate embarrassment. “Yeah it did. In fact, all I can think about right now is tearing your shirt off. So how about you shut up before I-” Her eyes darken and there is something wild and brave about her, cutting him off and challenging him hotly. “-all you do is stare at me like I did something wrong to you. I’ve always wondered why? You always hated my guts, but that’s not what this is, is it, Asshole? So what are you looking for?”

Her hands are still in his hair and he’s losing his sanity. She doesn’t look like she knows what she’s doing, but it’s obvious, that she’s not pushing him away. In fact, it felt like she was the one who had him on the ropes. She looks down between them, a look of pure anxiety forming on her face, followed by her shaking and gentle hand, falling out of his hair.

He is aware of her palm, caressing down his neck, forcing him to swallow thickly. Her eyes aren’t meeting his, leaving him to watch her, and letting her do whatever she wants to him. He’d let her do just about anything at this point. When her hand moves his jacket away from his chest and splays out over his heart, he’s slack jawed. His heart’s hammering against his ribcage like it wants to bust out.

All she did was drag her open palm down his neck and to his chest, but the heat of it, spreads out across his shoulders and upper back like a hot flash. She’s looking at his t-shirt. She’s huffing feverishly and breathing deeply, and it comforts him to know that she’s losing it too. Then, resolve fits onto her face, as if she’d decided something without letting him know about it. He doesn’t expect it, when her hand drops onto his thigh.

In fact, it startles him enough to jump, his hands tilting her face up by instinct alone, a heated word forced out of him. “-Woah! “ He’s shocked by her fingers just digging into the fabric of his jeans more firmly. His belly’s flexing and his thoughts are entirely on her hand and his throbbing erection. Her eyes are fogged up with the telltale sign of arousal, his eyes searching hers for any sign of a cruel joke at his expense. He is painfully aware of how she’s got her fingers curled around his inner thigh.

She begins to drag her fingers up his inseam, slowly. The atmosphere is thick with chaotic and pent up attraction, with him feeling her every movement like his skin is overly sensitive. Her fingers slip up another inch, his thighs falling open and his breath hitching over it. One more inch and he feels her pinkie teasing at his zipper, his eyes falling shut and the air feels stiflingly hot.

She pauses there. Whether out of insecurity or just to tease him to the edge of his tolerance, he doesn’t care. When she presses her knuckles timidly against the thick outline of his sex, straining painfully hard against his jeans, his fingers clutch at her hair. He sucks in a breath that is deep, sharp, and weak. When she opens her mouth, he can taste her words on his tongue and they are as pleasurable, as they are irritating. “Is this what you’ve been looking for, Sun Dance?”

The dig at his middle name with his dick practically in her hand, has him tempted not to utterly loath it.

Butch Cassidy, his mother’s favorite western star will forever haunt him till his dying day. It catches him off guard, has him opening his eyes and looming over her like a monster. She wasn’t looking up at him like a monster though. Inarticulate and clumsy, he answers her brokenly. “Screw you, Angie....”

Fuck her and his middle name. Her eyes stare into him, digging at his soul and fearlessly touching him beneath his jeans. Her other hand in his hair and if he weren’t holding her there, she could kiss him if she wanted to. Her lips tremble, her voice a whisper, sweeter than she has the right to be. “…only if you do it gently.” Scary, messy, savage hunger. He couldn’t begin to describe the way her words had hit him.

He’s lost his breath and searching her face for meaning. Unable to figure anything out for shit, because he was drunker than his Ma’ right know and that was hard enough as it was. His fingers are scratching at her scalp and the way she whimpers, gets his dick to swell. She wasn’t telling him no. She was looking at him like she was begging him for it.

He tries to warn her, losing his pride, too afraid of this long buried hunger, to stop himself. “‘m gonna make you cry again…unless you stop me…” Gently? She wanted it gently? He could do that. In fact he could cry about it, he was so beside himself.

When he kisses her, his whole demeanor starts to fall apart. Her hand pets his crotch deliberately, on her way to clutch at his side, making him feel out of control. Breathless, he breaks away for air, kissing her and losing himself in it. This was happening if she didn’t tell him no and without a hint of irony, his face is tortured, his voice pained and lacking confidence. “-Fuckin’ stop me…” he was pleading with her to now.

He wasn’t ready to destroy whatever relationship they had. Not yet. Not now. He may not act like it, but she was really, really important to his everyday routine. She was the only one who never let him get away with shit, but also the one, who he could ask for anything and she’d never let him down.

She was loud and clever and smart and everything he couldn’t be. He’s drunk. His thoughts are drunken slurs and his eyes are watery, because it’s overwhelmingly good. “How could you want this?” Her voice, strokes his bleeding heart and it breaks him. “I’ve always wanted you… you were just too pissed off to notice.” She’s been the only one to press his buttons since birth. It’s no different now.

When she kisses him, he turns into a pile of feathers. She licks between his lips and taunts him, by moving her hand beneath his shirt. She pushes him, further and further towards the edge of no return. She encourages him to unbutton his jeans, while he falls into this spiral of repressed urges and emotions. It felt so right kissing her that he couldn’t fake a single thing with her.

He couldn’t hide his emotions or silence his sounds.

The way she’s pulling at his hair with her other hand, makes him groan. He can feel her fingers dipping into the dents of his ribs gingerly, like she’s counting them. Her tongue is a hot, slick dagger between the seam of his lips and he’s defenseless. Then it’s all over. He’s lost in the feeling and she’s not fighting him.

It’s her. It’s her fault. It’s the whisky. It’s his fault too. His jacket’s in her hands and she’s sliding it off his shoulder and onto the foot of her bed.

His shirt’s in her hands and then it joins his jacket. When he’s sitting there half naked, he starts to slow down again. He’s moving one of his hands out of her hair and down to slip up her tank top’s sleeve, gripping the smooth flesh of her little shoulder firmly under the lose fabric. Her fingernails drag off his scalp, becoming his favorite weakness, as she draws another shiver out of him. She pulls back, panting and cradling his jaw in her palm.

He gets a good look at her face and his heart swells. He’d give anything for her to look at him like that forever. He never wanted to forget it. He’s got a hand on her shoulder and the other’s falling out of her hair, so he can touch her cheekbone with his fingertips. She has the most beautiful expression he’s ever seen.

Before he can go back to kissing her, she’s blurting something out, which has him thinking. “Tell me a secret?” He doesn’t have to think too hard, because he’s got a few too many. Plus booze and sex would loosen any guy’s tongue. The pad of his thumb is tracing the curve of her mouth; his eyes following it, fondness dripping from both his tongue and his touch. “… I wish that you’d never smile at anyone else but me…” His focus flickers from her mouth to her wide eyed stare.

Oh. What he’d said was surprising to her. It shows on her face, but she’s firing off another question before he can stop himself from answering it. “Tell me another one.” He’s getting antsy, knowing he shouldn’t tell her anything else. The hand on his ribs, starts moving toward his heart again, and it’s a physical manifestation of the truth. He tells her another one, fueled by this newfound affection that she’s not shy about giving him. “I was the one who put that poem in your locker in the 8th grade.”

Again, she looks surprised and her eyebrows rise, making him shuffle his body closer to her and swallow thickly. When she’s literally sitting in his lap after some careful maneuvering, he decides to tack on, “I wrote it. Not that Freak Gomez…” He could get addicted to how her voice sounds when she’s foggy headed. “That was you?” He sighs against her lips, kissing her again soundly.

If he doesn’t stop she’s going to pry more information out of him.

She has him on his back, faster than he can think. Her bed has a James Dean poster above it and her thighs are straddling his hips, like they were made for it. She’s looking down at him with a half lidded gaze, her eyes frosty with lust. Her hands are on his face and she’s leaning down to kiss his mouth again. Her hands are hot on his bruises, her lips are like a wet dream he can’t wake up from.

She’s sitting on it. The curve of her ass perched right on the growing monster in his boxers. She’s brushing her hand down his chest and belly, shooting fire through his veins, sparks flying behind his closed eyes. His hands are now under her tank top and climbing up the delicate expanse of her body. Her hand freezes, her palm flat on his belly, and when his thumbs start counting her ribs, it makes her whine against his mouth.

She breaks away, the taste of her fire lingering on his tongue, his mouth stinging pleasantly. When he opens his eyes and looks up at her, all messy blonde hair and wild eyed stare, his attention darts to her belly. Then he gets stuck on where his hands are. She’s so tiny, that his hands are swallowing up her ribcage, the weight of her breasts, just at his fingertips. He’s pushing her shirt up over her chest, hearing her sigh, like his hands are magic.

His belly’s jumping as her fingernails press lightly into his stomach. She’s reacting wonderfully to his touch, leaving goose bumps across his neck, his head a blank slate of building intensity. Then her breasts are in his hands and his heart is pounding like the devil is on his heels. He feels the heat crawling up his neck and then she looks at him, like he’s everything to her. In that moment, she can’t take her eyes off his.

His skin’s on fire, tingling from the tips of his fingers to the ends of his hair. Her face is flushed, shy and yet, when she cups him through his boxers, her nipples are budded up tight underneath his palms. His voice shakes with the excitement of it all, his erection ever thickening under her tender hand. “…you’re good at this…” He groans and his words seem to spurn her onward, the two of them out of breath and the room stifling with their shared body heat.

He buries his face into her neck, unable to look at her for too long. Her face in that moment is the most beautiful thing he’s ever witnessed. Filthy and sweet. Innocent and honest. He rubs his thumbs across the puckered up buds of her breasts, which are straining against his palms, hard and aroused.

She cries out for the first time, her hand flying off him, blindly pulling him closer. He drags his teeth against her neck, alight with the hunger to drive her wild. He pinches her nipples, gentle, but with pornographic intent. His name is guttural in her mouth, perfect sin in her quiet bedroom. “Butch… holy shit…” Hearing her curse, it goes right to his dick.

She’s shoving at his shoulders and like a bobble head, he rocks back and away from the force. His hands begin to slide off her breasts, but when she leans back and tears her shirt off, he leaves them right where they belong. He looks at them for the first time and his heart aches. Her skin is so pale and delicate, and his hands are rough, darker than her flesh. The contrast of his tanned flesh and her pink nipples, leaves his mouth watering.

He doesn’t ask for permission. He just leans forward and takes one of them into his mouth, caught on the whirlwind of his greatest desires brought to life. Maybe it’s the booze or the smell of her, but he’s never felt so high. It’s as if his brain is melting and her voice, is like a match to the pyre. “That’s so good, Butch…” She’s sighing the words, her shoulders shivering, as he drags one of his hands up her back and over her shoulder blade.

Her skin is softer than he expected and her breasts are bigger than he thought. They fit into his hands like they were meant for him and his maddening need to suck on them, was thoughtless and primal. He feels her fingers dragging into his hair, pulling him closer. She’s pulling him closer, breaking his heart in the best kind of way. She’s huffing and gasping, unraveling sweetly for him.

He dips his tongue between her breasts, groaning while he bites at her skin with his teeth. He keeps the pressure light, desperately listening for what she might like. His thoughts are full of images he’s saved of her. The curve of her neck, the color of her breasts, her ass against his barely concealed erection, her fingers touching it boldly. Lapping at her collarbones and kissing up towards her jaw, he wraps her in his arms, with the violent urge to press her against him.

He squeezes the breath out of her and she laughs like bells, husky and fearless. “Taking my breath away here…” When he feels her arms holding him to her, he’s shell shocked. He never once thought she would ever hold him like this. It breaks him and he’s saying things he shouldn’t be, that old poem coming to his mind. “ _You’re just like heaven, always out of my reach.”_

Embarrassment starts to eat at him, his voice quieter, dark velvet in her ear, whispering the other verse. _“Dying to touch you, Angel feathers in my teeth.”_ Her fingers jump against his skin, pressing firmly into his back, her words moved to great depths, devoid of humor. “…it really **was** you.” He doesn’t want to remember it anymore. The way Gomez took credit for his work and then stole his… chance. He’s rolling them over, on top of her and finding it hard to look at her.

It was one thing to write it. Saying it out loud clawed at him painfully. It was like surrendering a very private piece of himself. Intimate. Her hair’s splayed out on her pillow like a halo and her breasts are laid out for him like a pinup model’s.

He’s diving down for another kiss, only to be stopped by a gentle hand on his heart. Her voice kick starts it, panic hitting him sharp and instant. “Wait…” In that moment, she’s the one with all the power and he’s on the verge of snapping. She’s reaching for her lamp flicking it off. Relief fills him, when her thumbs fit into the dips of his hipbones, invitingly.

It’s still bright enough to make her out, but the blue tint of her room’s natural lighting, adds something clandestine to this ordeal. It’s like it’s a forbidden taboo they’re both partaking in. His heart hammers against his ribs, supporting himself on his knees, with a hand planted beside her head. He can’t help but ask, unware of the growl inside his own voice. “Feelin’ shy?” He watches her turn her head away, looking at his arm planted beside her face.

Her touch is so light on his body, the timid voice under him, so unlike her, producing in his bones, strong and softer emotions. “…yes.” Protective. He’s never felt like that before. Not like this anyway. If anyone were to walk in, the sight was criminally provocative.

Her legs are spread, her thighs around his hips and he was on his knees between them, with a raging hard on. His jeans are pushed so far down, that his grey-vaultec boxers are bunched up around the thick tent inside them, obvious and obscene. If anything, it looked like she needed saving from **him**. He shoves the thought away violently, leaning down, overcome with tender emotions he’s never thought to share with her.

Had it always been her? It had, hadn’t it? The girl he couldn’t stop chasing around. The woman who was now half naked under him. He’s leaning down and pressing his forehead to hers.

His eyes flutter shut, his fingers bunching up her bedsheets, while his other hand cradles the back of her neck. He talks low and quiet, the tone foreign to the both of them. “…still want it?” He feels her hands trembling, as they move up his sides, caressing. Appreciating. Then her palms are on the tops of his thighs, splayed flat, making him shake.

Her approval warms his soul. “I do.” He swallows thickly, his eyes shut and hyper aware of the way her fingers are now playing with the top of his boxers. He chokes out a single word, caught in a trance. “Cool.” She bites her lip, even though he can’t see it. When she slides his boxers down his hips it is agonizingly slow.

The fabric grazing him in all the right places, making him flush red as he pops free of its confines. He didn’t know when his breath started turning so ragged, but when her gentle wrist brushes against the velvety head of his erection, he’s begging for mercy. He can’t tell if it was an accident or not, and he can’t open his eyes to look either. Her fingers are slender, warm, and soft as they wrap around the base of his erection.

His thumb is tracing patterns on her slender neck, an anxious and automatic tick. Her steady words, her hand moving up his shaft, forces a guttural moan from out of his belly. “You’re bigger…than I expected.” When she drags the pad her thumb around the head of him, her thumb gets slick with the proof of his pleasure. She’d been thinking about what he was packing? The thought is enough to make him throb powerfully within her grasp.

She whispers, as if he’s some sort of experiment or a curious new toy. “…I felt that… I have you jumping in my hands, huh? …Does it feel good?” He can’t tell if she’s seriously asking or teasing him. He doesn’t care. It has the same result. Painfully hot pleasure is curling his toes and his fingers are dragging up roughly to tangle into her blonde hair.

It wound around his fingers tightly and offered him something to grasp onto. He could lose it like this. If she moved her hand any faster he was done. No, if she even said another word. He couldn’t let her finish him off like this.

He’s switching to using the hand behind her head for support and reaching blindly between them to snatch up her wrist. Her fingers fall off him heavily, giving him one last shiver of ecstasy, before he pins it beside her head. Lowering his body onto hers, he’s doing his best not to crush her. Drunk on her touch, his voice cracking, pitchy, and wound up tight. “… Stop… mercy…” Her voice answers him, confused, her other hand petting up his body, to stroke his jaw. “Are you alright?”

He’s full of butterflies and hard enough to feel the burn of it in his bones. He swallows thickly, rising up on his knees, towering over her, uncovering her entirely, caressing the front of her throat and allowing her hair to flow out of his fingers. Her breasts are rising and falling rapidly, looking like a work of art, her fingers lightly touching over his face, until he’s out of her reach. He’s stumbling over his words, putting his hand on her belly, watching as she clutches at her chest timidly, with that delicate hand she’d had on his jaw. “’M about to finish…” Then he locks eyes with her, his expression dark and his voice feral. “-so don’t touch me.”

She flinches and his chest tightens. His face falls, his eyes memorizing every inch of her, tripping over sweet nothings, her face pink, intently watching him. “You… you make me feel like I’m dying…” He stutters, finding it difficult to speak. “-it’s so damn good…” She’s nodding and a smile crosses her mouth which steals the rest of his sanity. She’s talking like she’s floating on a cloud, so full of trust that it wounds him. “I want to…make you fall apart… because I’m falling apart…”

He’s dragging his fingers down her body, shuddering and gathering his wits, rushing out the words, eyeing her shorts with predatory thoughts. “Oh, ho… What I’d like to do to you…right now.” Her expression is dazed and wanton, her voice alone, almost enough to bring him over the edge. “What are you going to do?” He’s not sure. Anything and everything he can, before the night’s over. He’s gliding his palm down the soft of her belly, caught on the way she’s sighing his name. “Butch…”

She’s staring between his thighs, before she shuts her eyes. He’s reached the coarse feel of her pubic hair, licking his lips and grasping her bare thigh with his other hand. He splays out his fingers, spreading her wide under the fabric. Dipping his fingers into the silky flesh of her sex, she jolts in shock, while he hooks her thigh around his hip. Wet, damp heat, so smooth and enticing, even touching her like this is enough to make him beg for it. The wetter, the better.

Her thighs begin to shake and her reactions are so sweet, it’s debauched. Her body welcomes his fingers and the thought of plunging into her right then and now, makes the weight between his thighs heavier. He’s pressing his fingertips against a noticeably slick bump between the folds of her body and to his delight, her hips are flying off the mattress. She bites her knuckles, turning her head against the pillow, and she cries out for him unable to hold in the sound. Her voice cracks and it has him pursuing her pleasure like a wolf with a rabbit. “Wait...”

He strokes that hidden bundle again, her expression twisting into precious agony. Her slim fingers are on his wrist, clutching desperately, while he continues pushing for more of that broken pleading. She’s begging him now, her eyes open and full of tears, both alarming and arousing him. “Please…please…” He falls forward, hooked on her every breath, twisted up and coaxing her softly. “…yeah…hey… it’s ok…it’s ok…” He slows his roll, dipping his middle finger into her fluttering and welcoming lips, whispering to her, watching her every move. “…more? ...do you want more…?”

He’s watching her, worried that he’s doing something wrong. When she answers him, he’s immediately thrown into the throws of passion. “It’s so good…it’s so good… oh god…why is it so good…” He has her sobbing his name, pride and want consuming him entirely. “…Butch…please…” His brain shuts down and all he wants is what she wants. Anything she fucking wants.

He digs deeper, curling his finger inside of her with zealous greed. He wants her to break apart. He was to tear her to pieces. When her body askes for more, clutching at his finger, he adds another. Her belly’s flexing and her face looks good like that. Twisted and crazed, begging him for it.

The little hand on his wrist, glides smoothly up his arm, grasping his bicep for stability. Her thighs tighten around his hips, her skin like nirvana on his. His voice isn’t his own and she’s blown away by his sex soaked words. “You’re soaked, baby…dripping all over my hand… you like that?” She turns to look up at him, moaning, unable to speak, but when he sees the surrender and the tears, he’s changing his tune. Black eye, busted lip, he looks like an attractively terrifying beast.

Then she’s gasping his name and his expression melts. “Butch…I…I can’t…please…” He’s brutal between her legs, his fingers ravaging, driving her higher and higher. Then his eyes start to get misty, a broken smile and a busted lip, a prelude to a confession, which has them both reeling. He finds the spot inside her body, which has her back arching like a dancer and his tone, is a warm sea, carrying her to completion. “…I love you…” He’s not aware he even said it out loud, but her insides capture his fingers tightly in response.

Her eyes flutter shut and her hands are reaching for him. She falls apart with a sob and groan, pulling at his shoulders, wanting to be closer to him. He goes willingly, fingers still knuckle deep within her, his face buried in the crook of her shoulder. Her insides pulse and he rides the wave, curling his fingers in time to her rhythm. Sex had never felt like this before.

Not for him at least. This felt raw and vulnerable. Beautiful and ugly. They hadn’t even gotten to the main event yet and yet she was moving him to tears. It dawns on him to ask her, basking in her after glow. “…you ever done this before?”

Her whole body is shaking and he’s careful to remove his fingers, because he’s getting the notion that she’s breakable. Soft. Her voice has never sounded so weak before, giving him the impulse to kiss her senseless. “…not with you.” He gives into the urge to kiss her, capturing her mouth in a gentle caress. When he parts from her, she’s flush up against him again, her thighs shivering violently around his waist now, catching him off guard with a counter question. “…does that matter to you?”

He doesn’t have an answer for her. It makes him uncomfortable, being put on the spot. So he just pushes himself up and finally gets up to take off his jeans. His boxers are on the floor right along with them and his boots were left at the front door a long time ago. He hears her behind him, pushing her shorts off, as he dodges the question, nailing her with another one. “It does, alright… Come on…I won’t tell! Who’d you lose it to?” He turns to look at her, only to find her blushing and flustered.

Mumbling to him, sheepishly. “…you…in a minute….probably…” He gets it now. It’s impossible not to notice, by how her legs are shivering involuntarily. Her inner thighs are slick and he’s proud of how much they’re shaking, the pride coming out in the heat of his voice. “Aw…damn…good…that’s good…” She’d been tight too, until he’d worked her open at his own leisure.

He’s climbing back on the bed, naked and hard for her, grabbing her by the backs of her knees. She’s surprised by the rough housing, a shout of protest leaving her lips. “W-woah! Hey!-“She’s sliding further down the pillow and as he dives lower to the mattress; his belly’s hitting her blanket like the snake that he is. She’s watching him, but she hasn’t moved to stop him at all. In fact, when he looks up at her, from between her knees, it’s all over for him.

He’s grinning from ear to ear. Hooking her knees beneath his elbows and planting a kiss on her inner thigh, just to shock her. Being manhandled, makes her flustered and the sight of him, between her thighs, with that wicked grin, has her squeaking at him timidly. “What are you doing?” His grin slips off, because damn the sight is explicit. He didn’t get a good look before, but she’s got Eden hiding between her thighs. Wordlessly, he kisses the upper apex of her inner thigh, gently.

She jumps at the slightest touch. He does it again. And again. He kisses the insides of both her thighs, taking his time, licking and biting them, taking control and losing it all at once. His voice leaves goosebumps forming on her flesh, his words shy and raw, her question unanswered in the heat of the moment. “…I’ve been thinking about you all the time… you drive me crazy…”

His eyes flicker up to look at her face. It’s sinful. Dirty. Delectable. The sight of her face above him and every wet, dripping fold of her sex all on display.

She’s holding her breath, searching his eyes, her words little more than a long drawn out sigh. “…I think about you too.” The way those words affirmed him, was mind blowing. She’s running her hands over her face, her chest and belly rising as she breathes deeply. His face is burning hot and her thigh is sweet satin against his jaw. He’s got his mouth ghosting over the heat of her, his eyes flickering between her breasts and her face.

It’s all he’s ever wanted.

His tongue presses inside of her, gentle and beautifully cruel. Letting his senses fall deeper into every aspect of her, he shuts his eyes. Her thighs flex against his jaw tautly, the taste of her clean and wet on his tongue, and her undone voice will forever be remembered in the deepest recesses of his memory. “Oh, god-“He can hear the woman bunching up the sheets in her fingers, coaxing out a side of himself, which is entirely selfless. He plans to give until she breaks.

He spreads her open with the steady stroke of his tongue, holding the curve of her hips and the plushness of her thighs in his rough hands, petting her with his palms. He doesn’t know how to stop touching her. In fact, he never wants to let her go. Her broken cries consume him, driving him to devour and suck at the most secret parts of her body. He’s high on the muscles pulsing in his mouth, her body shivering all over from the pleasure he’s laying down on her.

He pulls off her with vulgar ease and when he turns his head to gage her expression, it destroys him in the best ways. She’s watching him, her lips red and bitten, and her eyes misty with excessive emotion. Surrendered to him, in ways which he’d never dreamed she would ever be. He’s rising up from his depraved and provocative task, unable to look away.

Then he’s there on his knees, simply unsure of where to look. It’s all good. Her pink tits, her wet lower lips, her mouth kissable and her eyes sizing him up in the same way. He wonders briefly about how she sees him? He’s just a man on his knees, wanting to satisfy her right then.

Not a bully or a painful encounter. In fact, he was fooling himself into thinking that she saw him as a man in every way. It was hard not to be convinced by her expression. She said she’d wanted him for a long time and that’s just too good to be true. The way she was looking at him, made him feel warm and powerful.

It was too good for him to take.

His body is giving his dirty mind away, still hard and aching for her. His face must say it all, his own expression wild with adrenaline, his hair a mess of loose waves, tousled by her fingers. His bangs keep falling into his eyes, dark blue like the bottom of the ocean floor. The thin and pretty line of her throat bobs when she swallows, bringing up her hand to reach for him. It startles him, the sight of her like this, reaching out to him.

Her voice is shaken, most likely shook up over his shameless actions. “…why? W-why would you want to…what was in that for you?” Her legs are trembling, as if she was overly sensitive. His chest is heaving, his whole body stirred with the thrills of desire. He’s drawn to her tiny hand like a dying man to his last chance at life. He answers her, only after he’s guided her hand to his heart and gotten him to feel things that no respectable thug should. “I…I like the way your legs are shakin’…”

Her eyes widen, like it’s the dirtiest thing she’s ever heard. Her voice curling around him like a needy touch. “I…I like the way you’re looking at me…” His heart flutters, draped over her again, supporting himself beside her pillow with one of his hands. It hurts too good to touch her or to even please her at all, his words full of sweet agony. “I’m **always** looking at you.” When he feels the flats of her feet, against the backs of his thighs, he’s shivering over it.

Her body is warm and soft, her hands finding their way to his face, drawing him in. She’s got him hanging on her every word, her smile coy, yet strangely shy. “…you’re good with your hands…” She’s pulling his mouth to hers and he is just melting into her hands without a chance of escaping her. He barely catches it, when one of her hands falls off his jaw, enthralled by her voice. “…almost like you’re in love.” She knocks him silly with that one remark.

Then she kisses him so sweetly, he can’t even react. That wandering hand of hers, has him by the hip now, guiding him towards her heat blindly. Clumsily, she’s got her hand around his shaft again, giving him hell. He groans like a dying man at heaven’s gate, the moment she’s parting herself with the head of him. Slick, wet velvet, perfect enough to drive him insane.

His hands around hers, a commanding fist around himself, his body flashing hot all over, sweat forming on his skin. He’s got his tongue plunging into her lips like a dirty preview of what he’s about to do. He’s torturing himself, teasing her with just the tip and tasting her voice against the sloppy hunger of his kisses. He can’t breathe, he can’t think.

He parts from her lips to catch air back into his lungs roughly. She’s letting him take control, feeling her hand slipping out from under his, touching up his belly and chest with heavy affection. Her voice has his hips rocking forward, and her legs are pulling him inside of her body, like she just can’t help herself. “…don’t stop…” His whole body shakes, when he feels her walls around him.

He’s thick and swollen, her every touch so good it actually hurts to be this hard.

Her breath catches at the pressure of him pushing into her body for the first time. His toes curl, broken by how easily he slides inside of her. Her voice is just so lost, made mindless at the act of coming together. “Slow! _Mn_ …go slow…” She’s tight enough to stop his heart and yet, she’s still able to take him in easy inches. He’s frozen there, sharing the air with her, feeling good enough to cry for her.

Her body flexing and yet offering his some give.

Her every breath like a vice grip on his throbbing shaft, touching every part of him and setting his voice into a crack of bestial appreciation. “How’re you squeezing me so _tight_ … _sss-ah_ …”He’s delirious, whining at her, hissing from the pleasure. He’s begging her for more, dripping honey for her, his words weak, showing her his heart. “Am I…am I hurting you?” Her words bring him to a halt fully seated within her, because it’s too precious not to dwell on. “…No…Butch, it’s just….you…” She wraps her arms around his shoulders and it does everything for him, the way she doesn’t hold back for him. “…you’re just big…maybe…”

This time, when his body reacts, he can feel her insides answer back. They’re both near tears over it too. In fact, when he gathers his wits enough to look at her, he can’t look away. She really is in tears, brave, but so fragile. She’s whispering up at him, the air heavy between them. “…it’s not…supposed to hurt…”

His fingers are on her face, painfully aware that he’s deep within her, and he can feel her every word in a very physical way. “…not if you do it right…” He can’t handle her tears, in fact it’s got him choked up, emotions now flooding his senses. Too many emotions and the sex is already more soul tearing than anything he’d ever experienced on its own. He’s pleading with her, afraid of this obvious love that he’s wearing on his sleeve. “Wh-why are you cryin’, huh? Woah, hey…d-don’t cry…” Her hand is on top of his now, her lips trembling, and rivulets of tears are streaming down her cheeks.

What she says, surprises him. “…Why are you?” He hadn’t realized he was. He’s dumbstruck, words tripping over his tongue thoughtlessly. “I-I don’t… you’re just too pretty…” He never thought he’d ever say something so sappy out loud. Then, she smiles too openly through her foggy eyes and it does the most bizarre things to his body. 

It not only succeeds in tying him to her forever, it turns him on. She’s got her hands on his jaw again, her palms validating him just by touching him. Her voice is watery, but he doesn’t miss the joy dancing in it. “I’m glad it’s you…” That’s right. He was her first and he wanted to be the last.

The thoughts jamming themselves into his sexed stupid head terrify him.

His hips roll back slow and steady, his body running on raw instinct at this point. His lips are tasting her skin again, her legs anchoring him inside of her, as he sets the pace. Her fingers are pressing his shoulders, on his chest, grabbing his arms, making him feel wanted. She’d never stroked his ego a day in her life, but here and now, that’s all she was doing. And he couldn’t take it.

The mattress starts to rock, the force of his quickening tempo, driving them both higher. He can feel it when she’s on the edge now. Her body pulses, throbs, and flutters just like his own male anatomy, though entirely different- beautiful and feminine in contrast to his own rough, hard masculinity. The creamy flesh of her thighs, her breasts now once again in his fingers and under his tongue, words no longer able to be coherently exchanged.

It is raw, rougher than the start. Yet it is still tender, his heavy hands worshipping every part of her like she’ll disappear if he holds back now. He’s addicted to the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips, the view of her arched back and the blonde’s hair spread out under her yearning and desperate expression. He’s riding her higher and higher, finally lost in the rhythm and the sound of his name on her tongue. Her voice will haunt him for the rest of his life and star in every lonely night ahead of him. “ _…right there, Butch-“_

He captures the moment when he makes her orgasm, in a collection of snapshots. Both of his hands are on her ribs to support his weight and balance his quick, brutal motions. Her body seems to give her away, before the telltale way her mouth falls open. Fluttering around him, locking down on his male anatomy with hair-raisingly amazing pressure. His eyes fall shut, caught in the suspended weightlessness of her climax.

He’s chasing after it, forever chasing after her. The noise between them both explicit, wet, and heated, a symphony of strong and physical fire, accompanied by a litany of weak and ugly vulnerabilities. He’s reached the height of his release opening his eyes to find her looking up at him, like she’s fallen for him. He wants to hear her say it.

He doesn’t think about the consequences, he just spills himself inside of her, pouring his heart out. “- _I love you so much.”_ He hears it fall out of his mouth in the height of gratification, like a distant voice of insanity. This time, he hears himself say it and the realization, that she could utterly ruin him, taints his pleasure. His eyes flicker open, as he doubles over, capturing her wrists in his hands, pinning her there

She’s watching him intently, while he holds her there, afraid of being rejected. His hips rock their final rolls, the way she’s sighing, does the most beautiful things to him. “…prove it.” He breathes deep, like she’d tamed something inside him, which had been raging. She hadn’t rejected the idea. He hadn’t either.

His body fell free of hers reluctantly and the truth was, he never wanted to leave. He felt attached to her in an irrefutable way. He wanted to wrap her up in his arms and never let her go again. He wanted her to wear his jacket and go steady and maybe make her a meal. Then she turned away from him, stretched like the cat who ate the cream and shattered him a little. “…you should…leave before my dad comes home.”

He hadn’t wanted to, but in the end, he’d gotten dressed and stumbled out the front door, without saying much.

He felt like he’d said too much already.

With a busted lip and a busted brain, he made it to his own bed, unsure if the night in her bed had been real or a very powerful dream.

* * *

He wakes up in his own bed, his clothes thrown on the floor, and a hangover biting at his skull. He realizes that it’s his Ma’ calling to him from the living him through the door, which woke him. “Butchie, you got a doctor’s call!” He doesn’t have time to process it, when in walks the girl, who he’d deflowered just last night. He’s rubbing roughly at his eyes with both of his palms, finding it hard to look at her. She waltzes into his room like she owns the place, shutting his door behind her.

It’s hard to imagine, that her voice had sounded the way it had last night, all weak and breathy. “…I didn’t get a good enough look at you last night.” He’s looking up at her, scoffing from where he’s been caught half naked on his mattress. He feels slighted, like she kicked him out last night. He can’t help himself, because he thinks she’s full of it. “What? You want to do it with the lights on next time?” Her face flushes, but her expression is still a strong cold-front.

She’s swallowing thickly, her hands folded in front of her, words irritatingly even. “…I meant your bruises.” He scowls, looking away, feeling awkward. He’s sitting in nothing but his boxers, with his legs tangled up in his sheets and his confidence is on the low side. He’d had about 5 minutes to think about last night and what he remembered, was putting himself too far out there with her. In fact, he had screwed up in a major way.

He didn’t think he could be with another chick, like he had been with her last night.

She’s approaching his bedside, drawing his eye, when she speaks up again, his heart flutters. “Next time I’d like it if you weren’t covered in bruises.” He’s locking eyes with her, hooked on the words “next time” like he might have a chance. It makes him nervous enough to stutter. “Y-you should watch what you say.” She sits beside him, small, yet braver than she should have the right to be. Her voice stirs him up, a smile curling on her mouth like she’s laughing at him. “…Why…are you afraid of me?” He’s turning his body, leaning closer, his eyes narrowed.

She came to see him. She’s teasing him. She’s smiling. This doesn’t feel half bad. He’s talking to her like he doesn’t want her to quit. “Oh, ho…not even a little, Doc.”

That’s when her face falls, the sight bringing back the way she’d looked beneath him. It steals his smile, has him leaning into her every word. “Can we… talk about it? What happened last night?” He’s searching her eyes, caught off guard. He’s not good at talking. In fact, right now he’s hungover, half awake, and hope is trying to claw its way inside of him forcefully.

It hurts.

She’s too close. She’s sitting close to him either on purpose or maybe, because last night changed something between them fundamentally. He’s rubbing the back of his neck anxiously, questioning what she truly has on her mind. “…What do you want me to say?” He didn’t want to make it worse. He wasn’t thinking last night.

In fact, all he did was give into his feelings. That was something he never wanted to do with her. It brought him out on a ledge and never in a million years, had he thought she’d ever accept the things he felt. She wasn’t the type to just give herself away, at least not from what he knew about who she was. He’s startled still by her fingers on his jaw, his eyes stuck on her mouth and the soothing way she talks. “Did you mean any of it? The things you said to me?”

Of course he had.

His heart’s speeding up again. He’s biting his tongue, unsure of what he should say. He’s not sure he can admit it. Then she swipes her thumb across his bottom lip, her hands devious and sweet. She could probably get him to fess up to anything, with one touch.

He lets the truth leave his body like a despairing vapor. “…you know I did.” He’s not sure about what the future looks like. He used to think about it with a sense of hatred, but now it’s not seeming so terrible. He knows his lot in life is to be a dog for the Overseer’s whims. He knows he’s rough, clumsy, and that most of the vault’s population only views him as a failure.

Then she kisses him. Keeping her touch light, her words simple, and strong. “…Then let’s just go from there.” Their relationship was like a linchpin, which he didn’t dared to pull. Last night, he had stumbled into it and now things were going to be real different, real fast. He’d worry about the reality of it later. Right now, he just wanted to pin her down and take everything she had to offer.

So that’s exactly what he did.

And she ate up every second of it.

The End


End file.
